Fallen
by WolvenHeart
Summary: [AoshixMisao] Cold and unrelenting as ever, Aoshi has denied Misao the only thing she has ever wanted: himself, unmasked. Can she withstand the frustration and pain, or is it just too late?
1. Chapter One: Going Under

**Fallen**

Author's Notes: Just a forewarning, this is a very angsty fic. It's a CD fic, meaning its based around lyrics to a CD. The CD in question is Fallen by Evanescence, which in itself is a very angsty CD. This fic studies Aoshi's fears and Misao's frustrations, but I promise, it will have a happy ending. ^.^ Please read and review, it helps me finish the chapters quicker.

**Chapter One: Going Under**

_Fifty thousand tears I've cried _

_Screaming, deceiving, and bleeding for you _

_And you still won't hear me _

_Don't want your hand this time I'll save myself _

_Maybe I'll wake up for once _

_Not tormented daily defeated by you_

Makimachi Misao stared out the window of her room in the Aoiya, sighing wistfully. It was raining again. In fact, it was raining for the fourth day in a row. The ground was wet and soggy; no good for her to train, and she had the most difficult time judging the bursts of rain to bring Aoshi-sama his unspoiled cup of tea. She hated the rain. All it brought was despair. She would wake and rush to the window, praying the silver droplets were not cascading down its pane. Yet they had been, and her spirits dampened as if the rain had reached out and soaked them through. Even the sound of the rain – so soft and soothing – offered no consolation. When the beads of raindrops kissed the leaves and grass in their rhythmic fashion, all she could think of was being inside, nestled warmly inside his arms as he held her, safe and content.

Misao's brow furrowed. She had to get those thoughts out of her mind; they were far too frustrating otherwise. She was a woman now, young and beautiful, as many suitors had told her, yet the only one she wanted – the only one that mattered – still failed to see it. For such a revered man, Aoshi-sama was rather lacking for apparentness, she thought with a smirk. Or maybe she was just fooling herself again. He probably knew how she felt and was just being respectful by not bringing it up. Obviously, he didn't feel the same. Sometimes, as if his kodachi were stabbing through her heart, Misao wondered how he ever could.

Misao paced, debating between a choice of clothing. What was it Jiya had told her? "Aoshi spent the better part of his life with you as a girl, and now he's returned when you are a woman, but he is blind by his regret." Blind by his regret. Misao knew he still felt remorse and guilt for his four men, but everyone had forgiven him for that. Why couldn't he forgive himself?

Biting her lip, Misao peered suspiciously at the clothing before her. The onmitsu uniform lay ready, pressed and clean which she had accomplished herself, but beside it lay a beautiful spring kimono, dark blue with an ice blue floral pattern lining the obi and cuffs of the arms. Ice blue. Just like his eyes, thought Misao. They relented not even the faintest flicker of emotion, but whenever he locked his gaze with hers in such a strong manner, Misao felt a flush fill her neck and cheeks. The intensity of those ice blue eyes was fierce, and often-times, she found herself wondering how they would look enflamed with passion.

Misao blushed furiously, pushing the thought from her mind. Aoshi-sama betrayed nothing in his cold features, no matter how feverishly her mind conjured up its life-like images. Untying her night clothes, she studied herself in the mirror, frowning ever-so-slightly. She was a woman now, in form at least. But he would always see her as a child and nothing more. That self-defeating thought alone threatened to sting tears at Misao's eyes, yet she pushed them back, snatching up the kimono and slipping it over her shoulders, tying the obi with delicate precision.

The Aoiya was silent as Misao opened her door, padding across the wooden hallway and down the stairs. They gave a creak and she scolded herself for allowing a sound to be made, not willing to relent that the floorboards were old and tired, and even the most experienced and light step could make them cringe; an Okashira must be better than the most experienced, she thought with a stern face of resignation.

Jiya had pointed out her newfound determination to do her best, paralleling her maturity to that of Aoshi-sama's as he had started to grow. Misao found herself beaming with pride at being compared to the most skilled man she knew next to Himura, and certainly the one she revered most. But Jiya had added, with a regretful laugh, that Aoshi-sama had also grown frozen as he matured; he prayed Misao would not do the same.

In truth, she had matured past her usual level of exuberance and devil-may-care attitude, but the light of emotion still burned bright in her sea foam eyes, washing over her face in smiles, frowns, and even the bared teeth of a snarl; motions Aoshi-sama's face never practiced. In fact, when she deliberately attempted to don his trademark glare of neutrality, she found that the muscles in her face felt tired and spent, unaccustomed to such a cold expression.

Misao frowned as she heated water for tea. Aoshi-sama had never been the picture of emotion, but she seemed to recall pictures in her mind – pictures of him smiling, his ice blue eyes thawing just the slightest. Why couldn't he be the same? He was cold, emotionless, the stone amongst a meadow of vibrant activity and color. Was that what made him a good leader, or was it the result of one too many deaths witnessed? Misao assumed it was the latter, and dare not commit herself to the former, fearing she would never make a good leader if that were so.

As she mixed the tea, Misao's eyes betrayed a faint bit of nostalgia and a smile crept across her face. He had been her Aoshi-sama back then, caring for her and catering to her every need. She had loved him then, but not as she did now. He was a caretaker to her then, a fierce protector whose eyes would shine upon her when she smiled or laughed. But she had loved him as a woman loves a man for quite some time, and she failed to remember a time when she hadn't felt that way. Why couldn't he see that her love was just as real as anyone else's? She was nineteen now, very much a woman, and she had developed strong feelings for the man that had once been her guardian and savior – the man that now sat cross-legged upon the floor of a cold temple for hours at a time, bathed in silence as she brought him his tea. She didn't want him to change; she didn't really know what she would do if he ever did. But she wanted him to acknowledge the obvious fact that her love was more than a childish infatuation, and perhaps….

Misao shook her head. It was one thing to dream, but another entirely to plan your whole life around one person whose feelings might be so far away from your own. As she carried the tray to the temple, her mind was busy studying her own pathetic situation. It was not safe to dream so avidly. Misao knew this, but yet here she was, bringing this man that she loved with all of her heart his morning tea, hanging on his every breath, praying for him just to say something.

She reached the entrance to the temple and her eyes easily fixed upon his relaxed form, seated in the same spot as always. With his head bowed, his dark hair spilling over his forehead, he was the picture of spiritual beauty, and Misao merely stared for several moments before addressing him.

"Aoshi-sama, I've brought your tea." Her voice was light, friendly, welcoming. _Pleading_, thought Misao.

He looked up and his icy gaze caught hers, strangling her senses in a tight lock. Every day he made such eye contact a habit – a learned tactic from so many years spent on the battlefield – but this day, Misao found herself unable to continue her task. She felt her face grow heated, and only then did she disengage herself from the capture of his intense eyes.

She crossed the floor, carefully setting the tray before him. He had returned to his state of tranquility and she sat before him, imitating his cross-legged meditation pattern. The morning seemed to be just a series of mechanical motions now, as if it were not really her that attended the sessions, but someone else – someone whose sole purpose was this one, unchanging task. It gave her a sense of security, but above that, it deeply chilled her own heart.

"I tallied the profit for the Aoiya last night. We have a ten percent profit margin over last month."

It was idle conversation, and the numbers flowed rhythmically from Misao's lips as Aoshi-sama sipped his tea. Jiya had forced her to learn the accounts, and she found herself constantly tallying numbers and comparing them with other numbers. The task was daunting, but she felt a sense of pride at unmasking such sure figures. Obviously, Aoshi-sama was not as prideful in her task. He sat silent, looking at her again, yet managing to look through her, as always.

"A letter came from Himura this morning. Things are going well with the dojo and his own life. He sends his regards." Misao bit her tongue, not repeating the last part of his letter. _Tell Shinomori-san to open his eyes a little further, before happiness escapes him as it almost did me. _What had he meant by that? What would happiness be for her Aoshi-sama? She assumed Himura spoke of letting go of his past and his regrets and beginning anew.

Aoshi-sama remained silent, sipping his tea and staring at her. Her mechanical practice malfunctioned and she found herself with nothing to say. Her lips parted, searching for words, hoping she could breathe them in on the wind, but none surfaced. In the silence, she could hear the beating of her own heart, and she could feel his gaze going straight through her. She looked up, meeting him, accepting his challenge. She held her breath and prayed that maybe, if she kept staring long enough, she would see the slightest flicker of something… _anything_ stir in his eyes.

He brought the cup of tea to his lips, his gaze unwavering, took a sip, and set it back down. Nothing. Not even a flash of question at her unusual silence. It seemed he had become worse over the years, and now his concern was swept away with the wind. Misao sighed, defeated, and broke the stare, gazing forlornly around the temple. Was it this place that stole the life from him? The cold statues, the firm walls, the distant drizzle of rain, distorted by the temple interior – did all of this strip away the emotion?

Suddenly Misao found herself growing angry. She had been so patient, and the temple with its melancholy memories had always defeated her, finding its way to Aoshi-sama's heart before she could ever begin to extend her warmth and love. She wouldn't allow herself to blame him for this cold mask and tormenting past. No, it wasn't his fault. Why couldn't he see…?

"Misao."

The word was almost foreign, as if it wasn't her name; wasn't even directed at her. But hope shown across her features candidly as she snapped her attention back to him.

"Yes, Aoshi-sama?"

"Your hand."

She looked down and the hope seeped out of her veins, her face discoloring as much as the hand she now stared at. Anger and frustration had caused her to clench her hand so hard that she was beginning to cut off the circulation. He knew something was bothering her, yet all he had commented on was her hand. Her hand. Misao felt like yelling and crying at the same time. Instead, she allowed her words to flow freely from her mouth.

"This is so… frustrating! Why can't you see? Why can't you _say_ anything? No one cares about what you did in your past. The only one who won't forgive you is you, and you're so busy with your past that you can't see that all we want – all I want – is for you to be here, now. Not just a shadow, but you."

Misao clasped both hands over her mouth, instantly regretting her liberal behavior. Yet her gaze crept cautiously to his ice blue eyes which were focused upon her as if he had heard nothing. When he spoke, his deep voice, void of inflection, startled her gripping silence.

"Misao, you're acting like a child."

Misao gaped. _That… that was it?_ She had practically confessed herself to him, letting him in on her heart's most precious desire – to have him near, unmasked from the past. Yet he seemed to look past that, completely disregarding her statement. Or maybe he had heard her perfectly well, and this was his way of telling her that to him, she was and would always be a child.

Tears stung at Misao's eyes as she gathered the tray, leaving the cup she had prepared for herself completely untouched. As she stood straight and tall, fighting back the tears, she looked at him one last time, pain shining earnestly in her vibrant eyes. _Please_… She willed him to flinch, to show something. _Please, before I give up… I can't take this any longer, Aoshi-sama_… Her eyes locked his, yet he remained stoic, unmoving, as if to defy the very pain that wrenched her heart. Finally the tears won as Misao allowed defeat. Choking on a sob she turned and ran from the temple, the cold rain mixing with her hot tears, tracing lines of betrayal along her face. All she wanted was to get away from him, and she ran as if she still wore her training uniform and was free to do so. She felt herself falling – felt her kimono snag on her legs and trip her – but she didn't care. Sobs wracked her small frame as she slumped into the mud, the rain blanketing her, pulling her into its icy embrace.

_Nothing. Nothing in his eyes. Nothing in his face. There never was, and there never would be. _


	2. Chapter Two: Bring Me To Life

**Author's Note:** Wow, I'm sorry to confuse so many people… ^.^ This is not a one-shot by any means. A few people commented on how sad it was – in truth, it made me sad to write it. And I have to say this: it will get worse before it gets better, **but it will get better**! I promise. I've never written a pairing fic with an ending that was anything but mush, and I don't plan to start now.

On that note, I didn't expect so many reviews! Thank you, I really appreciate it. Due to the warmth I've received with this fic, here's chapter two, quickly and efficiently. You may have noticed the last chapter was in Misao's third person limited pov… this one is in Aoshi's. For the most part, they alternate, blending with the selected lyrics of each song they represent, so try to think of Aoshi when you read these lyrics, and you'll get a vague idea of what this chapter contains.

Chapter Two: Bring Me To Life 

_All this time I can't believe I couldn't see _

_Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me _

_I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems _

_Got to open my eyes to everything _

_Without a thought without a voice without a soul _

_Don't let me die here there must be something more _

_Bring me to life_

Shinomori Aoshi's eyes flickered open, tearing themselves away from their blissful tranquility. If they were closed, he wouldn't have to face what was there. He wouldn't have to face her; to overcome the tumult of emotions she caused. She was angry; he could feel her shaking though she showed no physical signs of doing so. A faint whisper echoed through his soul, buried underneath an avalanche of regret. _Do something_. _Say something_. His gaze focused on something, anything other than hers. He knew if he truly looked at her, that whisper would only grow louder, to a point where he could no longer control it. His ice blue eyes found her hand, tracing the rough, clenched fist she bore.

"Misao."

_Please don't do that. I can't stand to watch your frustration_. The clarification was left unsaid and he casually drifted his gaze back up to hers, making the mistake of meeting her beautiful eyes. They brimmed with emotion, so much so that he had a difficult time attempting to concentrate and look through her. He couldn't look at her. No. _Not enough shelter. She'll see what I really am._ Yet he caught the hope in her eyes, the hope that threatened to spill out and engulf him in a warm embrace. _You don't really want me. Blood stains my soul – taints my being._

"Yes, Aoshi-sama?"

_Aoshi-sama_. She had always called him that, with such a fond respect. Her extension was where he gained his insight. There was such a tender recognition in it that he couldn't help but see clearly what all of this was, and what it had always been. She loved him – that was painfully obvious – but she loved him as a leader, as someone to look up to. She revered him more than anyone else, Okina had told him once. That was where her love came from; a child-like infatuation with her protector. But then… when she challenged him with her gaze, that deduction seemed somewhat… wanting. Aoshi couldn't place it, but he wouldn't allow Misao to see the war he was fighting within himself; a war that raged just beyond the harsh veil of his ice blue eyes.

"Your hand."

As fleetingly as it had arrived, light upon wind's gentle tresses, he watched her hope diminish, draining the vibrant color from her face. Pain sliced through his chest. She was hurt. Disappointed. But why? He watched her recoil, as if crawling behind the safety of some unseen shawl, wrapping it around her for protection. _But… I am your protector…_ From underneath the invisible shawl, he heard her speak, her voice a distant sound as he attempted to place a barrier against any onslaught of emotion she could throw at him. It had worked when she was a child. It could work now.

"Why?" That was all her heard. The question seeped through his walls, threatening his tranquility. Why. _Why?_ Her voice was raised and trembling, her breath labored and shaky. The "Why?" pressed at his soul, twisting itself through the windows he had worked so hard to keep closed. His barrier cracked and he heard her last statement in its entirety.

"…all I want is for you to be here, now. Not just a shadow, but you."

That was ridiculous. He was here. He was sitting right in front of her. But even as the thoughts danced through his mind, he knew the last part of her statement to be bitingly true. _Just a shadow_. That was all he had left. After all of the death, all of the crimson lies and betrayal – all he had left was a shadow. His pride struck from the truthful blow, he muttered a reprimanding falsity.

"Misao, you're acting like a child."

He winced inwardly, knowing she would take that the wrong way. Why had he even said it? _Because she is still a child_. Aoshi grew confused. Porcelain clanked against a soft metal tray, yet the sound was as much of an echo as his withered soul. He caught Misao standing, straight and dignified, protecting herself from… something. _From me. I knew this would happen. One day, you would need to be protected from me…_ Her pleading gaze interrupted his thoughts, catching him vulnerable. Pain wracked his body as he looked at her; truly looked at her. Every tear she had ever shed found its way across the intense message in her eyes. Gone was his ever-happy Misao-chan, wailing childishly whenever he would leave her. This was something else entirely. This was the pain of maturity. The pain of a broken heart. _I did this to her. I've killed her. Not like Hannya and the others; but I've failed her, and it's killed her spirit_. But she would heal, wouldn't she? Aoshi suspected he was right about her love being a girlish reverence; he wouldn't allow the alternative to even surface in his mind.

Captivated by his thoughts, Aoshi, though inwardly rattled and damning himself for staining his soul once more, betrayed nothing through his eyes. And that was when she fled. He had never seen her move so swiftly… so tormented… so quick to be rid of him. _This is for the best, Misao. Cleanse yourself of me. I can bring nothing but death._

As she left, Aoshi closed his eyes to the world, yet he found no serenity. All he could see was Misao, her features constricted into abysmal depression. She was crying. No, that was not the world for it. She was sobbing violently, pain threatening to overtake her. _Why?_ Aoshi remembered her question, and somewhere, amidst the buried emotions and sincere words, he found what she had asked him. _Why can't you see?_ In his mind, his vision was clouded; stained red with the tainted misery of his past. Yet he found himself wanting to answer her, and slowly the red faded into a more manageable, transparent color. _See what_, he wondered. _What do you want me to see?_

As if called from the depths of his soul, Aoshi conjured up a picture of Misao as she truly was. She was staring at him with a strength that struck him at a loss, a determination that shocked him as very few things had before. In his mind, he met her gaze and truly looked into those beautiful sea foam eyes, so open and warm. A comforting warmth spread over him from head to toe and he took in her full image. Her long, silken hair, braided eloquently. Her delicate face, set and full of vitality. Her emotion-filled eyes, enchanting his senses beyond repair. Silently his mind's eye took in the entirety of the true Misao, dressed in a silk kimono. _When did she grow up…? _The harsh reality hit Aoshi fully, threatening to strangle him. _When you were busy not looking…_

The Misao in his mind – the Misao he saw when he had blocked out reality – had been a child. The warm, jubilant child he had cared for in his youth. He had completely missed the transformation, and now it was shocking. It was as if he was faced with an entirely new reality. She was no longer a child. But what did that mean? Why did he feel that it changed something?

_If Misao has changed so much before my eyes… there must be more I have missed_.

Suddenly, he was freezing. His eyes had snapped open, violently, willing him to see; to feel. The warmth had left his body, and he felt completely numb. The haunting message would not let him be. _Misao has gone, and so has your light_. Trapped by this new concept, he was unprepared for what his eyes focused upon next.

Misao. She lay in the mud, shaking with tears, rain battering her spine; pain battering her soul. Again, his body was wracked with her pain, and this time, a tinge of longing which he could not repress. He wanted to go to her, to shield her from the rain and protect her from the stinging presence of despair. _Despair which you caused_. The thought held him in place, even as her crying slowed to a visible sniffle and she stood, direct and intent on reaching the Aoiya, not daring to spare a glance behind her; a glance that could have told her so much. Aoshi's eyes conveyed dismal, lonely, emptiness, as if she had taken his very soul as she strode purposefully away from him. Conflict tore at him, yet painfully, regretfully, he pushed aside his own wants, forcing himself to focus on what was best for Misao.

_No one needs that much pain, and I have caused hers_.

He would not follow her. He would not acknowledge that he felt anything at all. She had to let go of her views of perfection and see the true man. _The one that only brings winter… and death. Misao… don't let me murder your spirit._ _Don't let me taint your soul as I have tainted my own._


	3. Chapter Three: Everybody's Fool

Author's Note: Yoink. I've been completely unmotivated, and indulging in reading other people's fics! Violet Ice Phoenix's review got me back on the right track, though. Here's chapter three after an extended wait. (It's 2am… this should be fun) 

**Chapter Three: Everybody's Fool**

_Perfect by nature_

_Icons of self indulgence _

_Just what we all need _

_More lies about a world that _

_Never was and never will be _

_Have you no shame don't you see me _

_You know you've got everybody fooled _

Misao slid open the door to the Aoiya, steeled and ready. If he wanted to treat her so coldly, she could easily reciprocate. It wouldn't be that difficult. _Just think like a rock_, conjured Misao. _Emotionless and stupid_.

"Good morning, Misao-chan." Omasu quipped, wiping down the counter.

Misao simply nodded, an uncharacteristic effort on her part. Was she doing it right? _It can't be that hard. He does it every day._

She kept her gaze straight ahead, focused intensely upon the wall as she made her way to the stairs. Omasu hadn't actually seen her yet, and if she played her cards right, the woman never would. Misao relied on her fellow ninja's uncanny ability to miss the simplest things, striding casually by, the perfect sense of poise and pride. No one had to know her face and clothes were caked in mud.

"Misao-chan…" Misao considered bolting as she reached the bottom of the stairs, yet she remained calm and focused, as if nothing were wrong. "Where's Aoshi-sama's tray?"

For a moment, all she heard was his name and her heart shuddered inside her chest. _No. I'm through crying. _"He's not done with it." It was a lie; she had left the tray in the mud where it had flown from her hands, but she wasn't prepared to deal with retrieving it just yet.

"Oh, --"

But Misao didn't wait for any more questions. Soon even Omasu would catch on and focus her attention. Against her better judgment she bolted up the stairs, curbing the corner to her room. With one fine _swish_ the shoji slid open, revealing the welcoming interior.

Leaning her back against the frame, Misao let out a long breath, untying the obi from her kimono. As the silk slid gracefully through her hands, she stared abrasively. Her nails dug into the soft fabric and she flung it down in frustration, tearing the kimono from her shoulders in a frantic motion to purge herself of all she had done exclusively for him.

She changed into the onmitsu uniform, switching out her normal pair of shorts for a far more conservative pair of pants; she didn't need Jiya's lecherous comments. Glaring at the kimono that lay in a lifeless pile at her feet, she picked it up and used it to wipe the mud from her face, a satisfied smirk passing over her features.

A shimmering pitcher, hand-painted by a mother she had never known so many years ago, sat proudly upon the polished wood furniture and Misao gazed into it, surveying her reflection. She closed her eyes and attempted to push all emotion away, using her training to surround herself in a cold aura. When she opened her eyes, a desolate image stared back at her, void of feeling. The blue-green eyes of the stranger in the pitcher were hazed in a gray overtone, her face set hard and tense. She stared straight ahead, yet seemed to be lacking a focus point. Being Aoshi-sama was empowering, she thought. It was dangerous. It was defiant. It was… painful. Misao's jaw and cheek muscles soon became tired attempting to hold the neutral line of her lips. She let them slump into a frown, turning away from the reflection.

"This isn't working…"

She needed to find some way to gather a stoic demeanor, and soon. Aoshi-sama would eventually come back to the Aoiya for the evening, and she needed to blatantly show him that she could play his game; she could be as perfectly frigid as he. Pulling her hands into her training gloves she picked up her kunai and tucked them securely in their place. Training would have to do.

The trip to the newly renovated training grounds was uneventful. Okina was nowhere to be seen, and neither Omasu nor Okon said more than a hello to her in passing. The Aoiya was closed for the day, but they were still busy cleaning. Misao smirked at having, interestingly enough, weaseled her way out of that one. She stepped out into the drizzle with little awareness of the weather, raindrops weeping from the sky to kiss her brow. The training grounds would be soggy by now, but that didn't matter.

As she neared the clearing, she immediately dug her footing into the mud, reaching deep to plant into the dry soil, and hurled her kunai overhand toward the target. _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk_. It was a satisfying sound, one that would normally send Misao into exalted excitement, but that was the old Misao. The new Misao used the success as a motive for composing herself, striding purposefully toward the target to retrieve the sunken blades.

She continued for several hours, and under her stoic exterior, Misao never missed. Inside, however, was another story. Inside she heard every _thunk_ and swore it was the hitting of Aoshi-sama's icy words against the walls of her heart. How could he be so temperate? _Thunk_. Didn't he care at all? _Thunk_. Didn't he realize her feelings? _Thunk_. Didn't he know what he meant to her? _Thunk_. She would always care, on the inside. And there wasn't any _Thunk_ thing _Thunk_ he could do _Thunk_ about it.

"Except maybe care…" Her outer façade broke, allowing her emotions to murmur their discontent.

Her eyes stung, beseeching an onslaught of tears, but she never allowed them to fall. Biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed, Misao turned her back on her rejection and threw the kunai at the target once more, hell-bent on driving them in to release her frustration.

_She never sensed the presence, nor did she catch the faint shadow watching her from afar. She was unable to feel the pain in Aoshi-sama's heart as harsh reality set in; unable to see his features fall further into desolation as he observed her composed, withdrawn self. And she was unable to see him leaving, seething for turning her into another cold, brooding picture of himself._

_~*~*~* If you like this story and like my writing style, please visit my Deviant Art page for original stories and artwork. If you -really- like my writing, I'll be sending around an alms box later this week. No, just kidding. If you really like it, send me an email at tekaos@jademoon.org and we can talk about it. Same goes for folks wanting in depth critiques on their original work. ~*~*~*_


	4. Chapter Four: My Immortal

**Author's Note:** And we're back to Aoshi's point of view, which I actually prefer to write. What can I say, I like writing the dark and mysterious male brooding character. =P Favorite song on the cd, so don't be surprised if this chapter was given considerably more effort than the last few. 

And to all of the reviews, I just have one thing to say: "!" They inspire me to write more, so please keep them coming.

Chapter Four: My Immortal 

_I'm so tired of being here_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears _

_And if you have to leave _

_I wish that you would just leave _

_Because your presence still lingers here _

_And it won't leave me alone _

_These wounds won't seem to heal _

_This pain is just too real _

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

Secretly, silently, Aoshi wished the rain would intensify. What was still a light drizzle fell briskly into his hair, sliding down the strands and tracing watery scars down his face. The rain was warm to his icy skin, almost burning… or was that just another trick of his mind? For one so focused on meditation, his mind managed to get the better of him more often than not.

No one would say Shinomori Aoshi was a man lacking in intelligence, for indeed his insight was from years of intense studying and application of his knowledge. Everything he did was pulled from a storage bank, filed neatly and labeled accordingly. "Battle Techniques", "Meditation", "Ritual", "Mannerisms", "Behavior", "Observance". Every thing and every person had their own file, and each file contained hard data gathered by Aoshi's ever-observing eyes and ears.

He reached for the "Misao" file and withdrew several chunks of information from when she was a child. Scanning the numbers, Aoshi realized that they didn't add up. Stepping up to the Aoiya he bore an inwardly puzzled expression for a fleeting moment before it disappeared. The remedies his mind had conjured to treat the current situation with Misao were coming up… invalid. But why? _Why are they so useless now?_

"Aoshi, I was wondering when you'd arrive."

Suddenly the former Okashira was released from the burden of his thoughts, if only momentarily. Okina stood before him, a gentle expression across his aged features. Aoshi grew cold and restless, forcing himself to stare at the man with enough concentration to prevent particularly looking at him. _How can he even speak to me, after what I did?_ Aoshi's mind hissed and clutched his heart in a frigid grip. Every time he saw the man he instantly felt guilty and wanted to offer an apology, but his mind, ever protective, would not allow it. Somewhere a faint voice whispered, _That was the Battousai's entire philosophy. Sins of the past cannot be undone, but they can be replaced_. The voice was almost painfully squelched.

"Aoshi?"

Oh. Had he said something? Aoshi had completely missed the previous address, but his expression belied only mild neutrality. "Aa." That would have to serve both sides.

"I asked if you had seen Misao. She's usually the first one in for the evening."

Aoshi thought for a moment, and inwardly he smirked at his own bitter sarcasm. _Yes, I've seen her. Thanks to me she's about to kill herself training and if she doesn't do it there, well, her light will die out, regardless. Sure, I've seen her. _"Not for some time."

As if on cue, Misao rounded the corner, drenched in sweat, the fingers of her kunai-laden hand flared and tense. Okina gave her a smile that she didn't return, her shoulders squared pointedly as she seemed to make an effort to walk close enough to Aoshi to roughly bump into him. Yet there was no stammered apology; no pretty blush. Aoshi looked down into her eyes beneath the safety of his jet bangs and saw absolutely nothing. _She's just exhausted after training, that's all._

"What did you do to her?"

Had he been any other man, Aoshi would have gaped. Okina directed a straightforward yet amused glare toward him. He gave a barely visible shrug of his shoulders in response. "She's acting the child again. I have no part in her fits." Inwardly, he laughed coarsely.

The older man's gazed searched his own, looking for something only he could identify. Apparently, that something went unfound. "Misao has grown up. I'm sure you've heard it out of her own mouth several times. I am reminded daily to stop calling her Misao-chan to her face." He fiddled with the pink bow tied to his beard, as if there was anything innocent about his statement.

_Why does he need me to acknowledge such a rhetorical fact? _But was it truly rhetorical? Misao had aged, yes, but she was still the same Misao-chan that held small tirades and then let go of them when her attention span had waned. At least, that's what Aoshi's mind willed him to believe, and so it was the standing truth.

Okina sighed when there was no response, placing a hand on Aoshi's shoulder. The younger man tensed, willing the attention away. _Why can't any of you see? I will only destroy you… stop offering me what I do not deserve! _As if burned by Aoshi's internal, passionate protest, Okina's hand snapped away yet he covered with a jester's smile.

"Come, Aoshi. It's time to eat."

-------------

Aoshi sat alone in his room, the pale moonlight filtering in through a window that looked over the garden in solitary silence. He laid the events of the day upon the table, one by one, inspecting them with grave scrutiny. The morning was nothing of importance, and as such, he skipped to his meditations.

His memories had been particularly painful and unrelenting that day. In his mind he saw them, the four of them, their faces contorted grotesquely in horrific death. All because of him. His closest friends had died because of him, and now his little Misao-chan was dying as well, but in a different way. Somewhere deep inside, tortured sobs resonated upon the walls of Aoshi's soul, yet his mind never allowed them to reach his heart.

A vision of Misao, just as she had looked before running from the temple, flashed through his mind. She appeared so… tormented. So utterly distressed. He had only seen her look so pained once before, when she had learned the truth about what happened to her parents. It was so unlike Misao that it shook him violently, even as a young boy. He vowed never to see it again, and when he made his leave, he had said nothing to her, knowing her distress would be ever-present in his mind.

It haunted him once more. When she was a child, he could fathom that her depression would not linger. But she was a child no longer. Aoshi's mind settled into blissful, tranquil solace and he allowed himself to think, for once, without its guarding walls.

No, Misao was no longer a child. In truth, he was quite impressed by her maturity in handling the Aoiya and her position. But emotionally, she was not built to be the Okashira. _And she should not have to be. There is too much beauty within her to cover it in the darkness of such a foreboding position_. Aoshi on the other hand had learned from experience that a hardened demeanor could save a man in his position a lot of trouble.

"And yet cause it, as well…" Aoshi mumbled into the darkness of his room.

There was something behind Misao's distress this time, something completely lacking in childlike naivety. Aoshi stood, listening to the sound of his breathing and the gentle wind outside. The rain had stopped for the moment, and he took the time to think. Why was Misao so upset? He had not behaved any differently toward her this day than any other, yet at dinner she had gone out of her way to shun him, making no pleasant conversation with anyone.

Perhaps she was truly hurt. _Hurt by what? She knows what I am… she should choose to avoid me if it hurts her. _Her words echoed in his head. "All I want is you," he paraphrased for her. Such a mature statement, direct and imploring.

As the breeze crept through the window, lightly sifting through Aoshi's bangs, he gave a troubled sigh. _What if she has matured beyond what I had first thought?_ His mind awoke, scolding him in its mocking tone, sending him into retreat. _Yes, Aoshi, what will you do then?_

Moments passed in silence as Aoshi willed himself not to think on the subject any further, settling himself upon the futon. As the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind grew dimmer , his hearing was tuned into a familiar sound coming from the hall: a shoji opening softly. Instantly he knew it was Misao's, and with some uncanny intuition, he knew she would not be back that evening. He wanted to leap from his position and stop her, to protect her from harm, but his mind suggested otherwise. _You'll only cause more pain. She needs this. Let her go. _

_"If you must leave then, Misao… leave now, please." _

He pushed the ominous thought that she might not be back the next day far from his mind, neither accepting the possibility nor taking recognition of his feelings toward it.


	5. Chapter Five: Haunted

Author's Note: Time for me to write again. I'm in a bit of a downward slump mood-wise, but eh, that's good for this story. Here's the fifth chapter, 5/11. Back to Misao's pov. Anyone seen the movie Ghost Ship? There's a song at the very end of it, and I want to think it was this song. In any case, Haunted is a great horror movie song. =P

Chapter Five: Haunted 

_Long lost words whisper slowly to me _

_Still can't find what keeps me here _

_When all this time I've been so hollow inside _

_I know you're still there_

Misao awoke in a cold sweat, her face stained with tears and stinging in the cool night air.

"Aoshi-sama…" The mumbled words were a response to a dream.

It was a disturbing scene to say the least. She hadn't experienced such terrifying dreams since she was a child. Her mind repainted the dismal scene of a bare room, a flash of red, and then nothing. Misao's heart raced. It was coming… she knew it was coming. Suddenly, there was Aoshi-sama, his kodachi in his hands. Blood cascaded over his body as if he were standing under a crimson waterfall. He turned to look at her, his eyes nothing more than hollow sockets, his mouth stitched shut, blood dripping from the seams. Misao wanted to scream, but she couldn't. She had to help him. As she approached, he stood there, his blood-soaked face haggard and listless. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand reached for his chest to rest over his heart.

"It's okay," she had whispered in her dream, her voice light and soft.

And for a moment, the bleeding waterfall ceased. The sockets began to fill and the stitching began to come loose. But then came that horrifying noise, that tortured moan, as if death itself was lamenting its losses. Another flash, and Aoshi-sama's features were coated in crimson once more. Misao's fingers began to numb and she looked down. A wave of icy chill crawled up her arm, freezing her at the wrist. She looked up at her Aoshi-sama's hideous excuse for a face and still refused to back down, keeping her hand steady against his chest. The ice ran through her blood, stopping it and freezing it, encasing her arm in frost. Further it went, across her torso, when it finally reached her heart. Sharp crystals of ice formed themselves within its tender walls, threatening to burst them. When she still did not relent, Aoshi-sama looked down at her and spoke, his withered, stitched mouth not bothering to move. Suddenly the whole room turned frigid, and Misao could see her breath as she frantically panted.

"I don't need the help of a child. That's always what you'll be to me.... I don't want you. I never will. Get away from me.... Now."

Misao's tears froze and shattered against her cheeks before she jolted herself awake.

Lying in bed, she hugged her knees to her chest, resting her head against the soft fabric of her sleeping attire. Sobs violently choked her, wracking her entire body in a fit of tremors. Darkness clung to her, despair knocking on the door of her heart.

"Please…" she languidly drawled to the darkness, fighting it meekly.

_I don't want you. I never will. _It had to be true. She was such an annoyance, such a burden to a man who was ten years her senior. He shouldn't have to waste his time on some child. She wasn't pretty, and she certainly wasn't beautiful, she thought bitterly. Always had she been 'one of the guys', and Aoshi-sama wouldn't want someone like that. She wasn't good enough. She would never be good enough.

Her feet set themselves against the cold floor and moved her across the room before she even realized what was happening. Pain pounded in her ears from the impending headache. Silently, swiftly she dressed, grabbing her kunai and reaching the shoji before fully realizing the implications of what she was doing. Through her window she could see the dim glow of the moon as it lay high in the sky – morning was far from approaching. Her hand trembled as it reached to pull back the light door, as quietly as possible. If he heard her… if she had to face him after such a revelation, she would surely make an even bigger fool of herself. What was the use trying to play his game? Obviously, it didn't manage to net his attention. But now Misao knew she could not go back to her old self; not after the feelings evoked from such a life-like, telling nightmare. Misao's features bore her pain and current self-loathing as she made her way down the stairs and to the doors of the Aoiya. The flame in her eyes grew muffled, and then was snuffed out completely. She opened the doors and stared out into the night, bathed in its quiet desolation.

_What are you doing? _The question pounded in her head.

_Leaving. _

_Why?_

_I have to. I… I can't stay here any longer. Not around him. He hates me… he's disgusted by me. It's time I do him a favor, for once. _

She silenced the voice that would argue with her, sobs tearing through her throat once more as she hefted a pack onto her shoulder. She needed to leave. She had to, before despair completely swallowed her. _I can't see him again. If I see him, I'll… I'll just want to come back, and I…_

Misao dropped to her knees, her back to the Aoiya. It was the second time that day she had fallen and began to cry, but now she didn't bother pushing away the sorrow nor did she push herself to her feet. The air around her was dead, and her cries filled the night with tortured pain. She had once been the one that brought a smile to everyone's face by her uplifting mood. _Everyone except him. _Depression held her in its arms now, its talons gripping her in a tight hold. She was falling… ever falling into an abyss, and there was no one there to catch her.

_I don't want you. I never will. _

"Aoshi-sama…" she wailed into the night, broken inside. The only one who could fix what had happened was the one who didn't care; didn't want or need her around, and that, to Misao, was the breaking point of all she could withstand. Her body shaking, she willed herself to stand, just so she could be further away from the Aoiya… and further away from him.


	6. Chapter Six: Tourniquet

**Author's Notes:** Wow. I really appreciate the reviews on that last chapter – it looks like it went over quite well. This is by far the most painful song on the cd, for me, and now it's, unfortunately, Aoshi's turn for pain.

**Chapter Six: Tourniquet **

_I tried to kill the pain _

_But only brought more _

_I lay dying _

_And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal _

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming _

_Am I too lost to be saved _

_Am I too lost?_

Aoshi awoke to a vivid monsoon of rain and storm. The moon was low in the sky, and morning was approaching, but he had not slept. He would fool himself into thinking it was the gale, but in reality, Misao's departure haunted him as he argued amongst himself.

_Why didn't you go after her? This weather is horrible. _

_Weather? Is that what you care about, Shinomori? The damn weather!_

Aoshi sat still in bed, the color draining from his face. Suddenly the voice inside his head had taken on quite a keen resemblance to Hannya's. Wasn't this what he had spent the last several years of his life trying to escape?

_She'll freeze to death. _

"So?" Hannya's voice challenged, now clear and identifiable.

_So? How can you say that, you were practically her --_

"Obviously you mistake my meaning, Aoshi-sama. Why does it matter to you what happens to her?"

And now Aoshi was mumbling his arguments, trying to get a stronger footing in the conversation. "You were there when I made that promise. I swore I'd never let any harm come to her."

"Oh, right. No harm. Then why in _hell_ is she out there right now?"

Aoshi was silenced, his heart twisting as his friend continued to berate him.

"You know why she left."

"Yes, because of me. Is it necessary to repeat that?"

"You don't get it, do you Aoshi-sama?"

Aoshi sighed, lifting up his gaze and peering through his bangs, eyes glazed in defeat. "I don't understand what you want. I know I failed you, and the others, but please –"

"This isn't about me or them, and you know it never has been. You're the only one still living in that moment, Aoshi-sama, and it's time for you to wake up and realize what has happened since."

The window shutters slammed against the inside of the room, misty rain pooling upon the wooden floor. Startled and thankful for the momentary distraction, Aoshi moved to close them, dropping an old, discarded piece of clothing to the floor to serve as a rag. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of returning his gaze to the window.

Outside, the sheets of rain formed a picture of Misao, just as she had been when she had collapsed while fleeing from the temple. The proportions of her body, however, seemed much smaller; it was Misao as a child.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"To show you what it is you think you're seeing, Aoshi-sama. There is our Misao-chan, crying because you left without telling her goodbye. None of us did, but she wanted to hear it from you most of all."

"She grew past that. You know I regret not telling her we were leaving, but there was no other way."

Hannya was quiet for a moment, and Aoshi thought he could hear the smirk form on his lips. "You're right. She did grow past that."

The picture of Misao changed only vaguely, now reflecting the young woman she truly was. The image chipped away at Aoshi's hardened heart; unlike the one of before, the pain resonating from this one seemed much more prominent – more mature.

"That's right." The man replied to Aoshi's thoughts. "You're not as dense as you look, Shinomori." Another mocking smirk. "Misao has changed. Yes, Misao. She's no longer our Misao-chan, though she will always belong to you."

Aoshi felt the presence staring him down. "What do you mean by that? Misao is not tied to me in any way."

"No, Aoshi-sama. It is there where you are wrong. Misao is tied to you in the strongest way."

"Don't say it. Just leave those thoughts alone. They're ridiculous, as you well know."

"You're the only one that seems to think so, Shinomori."

Aoshi remained silent, focusing his senses upon the sound of the rain, hoping to drown out the conversation. When at last he thought he had won, he crossed the room once more, taking a seat upon the edge of his futon.

"You're not escaping this time. You're better than that, Aoshi-sama."

He made no response, undoing his sleeping yukata and baring a scarred chest, an apt portrait and symbol of the man who bore the scars themselves. Across the room lay his clothes for the day, pressed and folded.

"She loves you."

Aoshi snaked a hand through his hair, seizing the strands in a death-grip. His teeth clenched and his eyes shot open, embittered and pained. "No, she doesn't."

"She doesn't? Ah, I see. So I suppose she left for her own general well being, then? Perhaps a leisure trip?"

"It's the stress of the Aoiya… it's getting to her."

Aoshi's words began to fail him, his cadence faltering at every step. He felt surrounded, accused, and utterly trapped.

"Is that what you're telling yourself, Shinomori? 'The stress of the Aoiya'?"

"She _can't_ love me."

"She is a grown woman, Aoshi-sama, and she may love whomever she pleases. Her heart's been set on you for quite some time now, you've just been too blind—"

"No!" Aoshi snarled, aggressively willing the voice away. He would have no such luck.

"Stop thinking in terms of the little Misao-chan you helped to raise and start thinking and _living_ for today." Hannya's voice countered.

"You don't understand…"

"Then make me."

Aoshi stared across the room, his gaze blank. Pain filled his chest, gripping his heart. "She cannot love me."

The countering voice began to protest but was quickly cut off.

"She cannot love me because I don't deserve it."

And suddenly, the voice fell silent. There was nothing more to argue. Aoshi admitted to himself that although Misao might think she loved him, she truly could not. Obviously, no one would be able to love the shell he had become.

_Then why did she leave_… Aoshi's own voice whispered.

Aoshi found his heart wanting to know the answer to that question, and before his brain or his shielding walls could answer it with jarring cynicism, he dressed and prepared to leave the Aoiya, clueless as to where to search, or why he was even bothering to do so.

As he slid open the shoji, Hannya's voice made one final comment on par with his resolution.

"While you're out looking, Shinomori…find yourself, as well. I'm sure the two answers will relate well."


End file.
